The Goddess of Blessed Death

Death Is Her

The underworld feels colder than before as she walks along the path of temples, eventually coming up to Ker's temple. She walks up to the imposing, dark structure, past the stalagmites and stalactites. Their tips grow nearer to each other the closer Makaria gets to the temple entrance until they become weak pillars at the stairs. Inside, images of war and massacre are carved into the walls. Weapons and torture devices are exhibited along the walls. At the center stands a statue of a winged, hook-nosed, naked woman with several, identical women coming out from behind her. They fly above, run beside, and are clawing their way between her legs and beneath her feet. As Makaria walks around the statue, the women's eyes follow her and she finds there is no back. The front of the stature is the back, it is all sides of the stature. A chill drips down Makaria's spine.

Someone blows on her ear. Makaria scrambles away with a cry. Ker cackles, the shrill sound bouncing off the walls. She stands before Makaria in deep emerald robes and silver jewels and diamonds. Behind her grows a small olive tree.

"You have an olive tree," Makaria says. She knows she sounds dumb saying it, but she wants to quickly move on from having just embarrassed herself.

Ker walks over to it and runs her hand up its trunk. "Yes," she says. "There are many different paths to walk after I come. This is one. Peace for the pneuma, peace with an end to a war. Of course, there's also, all the rest. War, genocide, massacre, torture. . . violent deaths are never pretty." She motions to all the weapons and instruments littered throughout her temple. "But I doubt any of this has brought you here."

"I need help with, um, disengaging," Makaria says. "I can't disassociate from the humans. Today I felt someone burning alive like I was in their place."

"Why would you want to know what death feels like?"

"I don't. I can't help it. That's why I need to know how to stop it."

"Then, stop it. Don't think about them. Don't think about what you're doing. Just do it, just do your job."

The Keres enjoys her job. Frustration welled up in Makaria. Of course, for the Keres is would be natural. Easier. Probably even fun. She was born a god. She revels in death.

"Do you really enjoy it?" Makaria asks, unable to keep the disgust from her voice.

Ker whirls around, snarling. Makaria takes a step back.

"Would you rather feel how they feel?" she hisses, stalking towards Makaria, who tried to walk backward as the goddess drew nearer. Makaria blinked and there were three advancing towards her. "Would you rather feel this fear?"

Hands grab her shoulders, and Makaria twists around to see three more. They surround her, closing in like a pack of hungry jackals.

"Do you enjoy this feeling, little one?" one of them taunts. "You have the power to stop it. When you are the one in power, you feel whatever you want. When you have no choice but to rule over battlefields to keep the world from being overrun by death and tortured pneuma, to keep lost soldiers from wandering after their own leaders have killed them, after those in power have chosen what to feel and told them what to do, you learn how to feel." Then, all but one disappeared into wisps of black smoke. Ker stood an inch from Makaria and ran her cool knuckles down Makaria's cheek. "You learn to choose how to feel or you will succumb to it. It's survival, Makaria."

Makaria darts away as soon as Ker drops her hand and steps back. She races out of the temple to the path, stopping. She glances back at the ominous temple. Though unable to see Ker, Makaria feels her gaze on her. Feeling like a rabbit escaping from a satiated but irritated coyote, she hurries down the path, half-running, only to remember she's headed towards a wolf. Her pace slows and she almost comes to a stop.